Egg Hunt -- by Gina

This past weekend I took my 6 year old niece and 3 year old daughter to an Easter event at our local children’s museum. The week prior my sister and I had been preparing by gathering up the requisite egg cartons (paper, not plastic or Styrofoam) for the Easter Egg basket craft the girls were going to be making first, to house their found eggs. My sister couldn’t make it – she had to take my nephew to a karate tournament so I would be spending a festive morning with just the girls.

We had to be there early – I had scheduled us for the earliest appointment. After leaving the house only a few minutes late to pick up my niece, I called my husband from the driveway. “Can you do me a big favor? There’s an egg carton in the fridge… can you empty the eggs out and bring me just the carton?” He hung up without a word and appeared in the driveway (in his boxer shorts) a few minutes later with the empty egg carton, a confused look on his face, handed it over and walked away without saying anything. He has learned not to bother asking what’s going on… it is usually too long an explanation for him.

Despite the cold and rainy weather, the girls were excited to get started. They enjoyed making their Easter basket craft – though it was a little chaotic, with lots of aspiring crafters pushing their way in for a spot at the busy craft tables to decorate egg carton baskets. There being no chairs, I hunched over the craft table or squatted down to the girls’ level, twisting into awkward positions to help them do their crafts. While I spent an extended amount of time helping Gianna get her basket together, my niece, Alissa, who had been suspiciously quiet, exclaimed, “Wow! This is so cool, Aunt Gina! Mommy NEVER lets me staple!”

So between alternate demands of “Help me, Mommy!” and “Help ME now, Aunt Gina!”, I managed to create two lovely Easter baskets with only paper and staples. But boy was my neck and back killing me from hunching over. As we traipsed from one building to the next, up and down stairs and over the wet field now, baskets in hand, my neck stiff, it occurred to me as it often does when I am doing these kids’ activities that… I am just too old for this!

Next they collected their eggs, arguing over who spotted which egg first, but enjoying it just the same. I made them pose for lots of pictures, then we went off to the next building for the snack. The Easter Bunny himself was seated in the snack area for photo ops, How nice, I thought. “Look girls, the Easter Bunny!” , to which my niece, who has always hated costumed characters, shouted, “That Easter Bunny is freakin’ me out!” My daughter, who predictably repeats everything her older cousin says and does, shouted (LOUDLY), “Yeah, Easter Bunny, you’re FREAKIN’ US OUT!” I hung my head in shame as everyone turned to look at us, but giggled to myself as we headed to the cookie table for their snack.

We entertained ourselves by watching the door the Easter Bunny had disappeared behind, waiting for him (from a safe distance) to come back out after his “carrot break.” The girls became brave when I told them he would give them treats if they went over to him. In fact, they were the first ones over when he came back out and they marched proudly back to me with bags of jellybeans in hand, smiling proudly and excited at their spurt of bravery. I snapped a quick photo of them and thought, “I’m not too old for this, after all.” Kids make everything more fun – a typical Saturday morning for us is an adventure for them.

It was a good day.

Happy Easter and Passover to everyone! And remember, don’t let the Easter Bunny freak you out!

Holidays -- by Robin

Holidays are bittersweet (for me). They have been ever since the passing of my beloved mom 11 years ago.

I was in a writing class earlier this week at my local adult ed, and the instructor asked us to share on paper our feelings about Passover. I got a bit teary.

My mom used to make a mean matzoh stuffing, and I loved it. The aroma filled the house, and I looked forward to it annually.

My husband, Marc, wanted to do the holiday at our home, and I'm just not up for it. It's one more thing to do, and entertaining isn't high on my list. It never has been, but especially now. Life is full, and it's been achingly stressful of late.

In a perfect world, we'd be invited somewhere. Marc's senior mom isn't up for hosting at her apartment anymore. Marc's brother and sister-in-law have invited us in the past, but this year, it didn't arise. We don't know what they're doing. And, my sister didn't even know the date of the first sedar and never offers to do it at her NYC apartment. Celebrating holidays isn't important to them....except for Hanukkah. They have come to our home in the past and brought food, but it's still a lot of work just setting the table, cleaning, etc. and I don't get enjoyment from it. It feels like a task, and I don't need more on my to-do list.

So, I suggested to Marc that we eat at a local diner. He was disappointed but understood where I'm at. We invited his mother, my father, my sister and her family, and they're all coming. We presumed his brother has plans, which is likely the case. We also invited friends, but they were busy.

When I read my Passover story to my writing class, I could tell some were a bit stunned that we'd be going to a diner. Most talked about the cooking they were doing and who they invited to their homes.

Home it's not, I recognize. But, we'll be together. It's a new kind of tradition. My son will know it's Passover and that it's a time people get together. We'll eat matzoh. Order matzoh ball soup. Hide the Afikomen back at home, and my son will get the reward money. He'll be happy.

As the saying goes, "home is where the heart is"...and that works for me, at least for this year's Passover. There's always room in the future to establish new traditions.